


dream a little dream of me

by bookhobbit



Series: The Magic Circle [6]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Pining, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Strange and Norrell make visits, and reunions are accomplished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should probably not have gone with this title, but I could not resist.
> 
> Whoooo this has fully kicked off the multishipping mess, well and truly. Aside from the listed pairings there are also mentions of Stephen/Segundus and Strange/Norrell. 
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to establish the dream-visitation stuff. I'm also working on how Emma and Arabella and Jonathan and Norrell, respectively, got together, but that'll be a bit longer. Eventually I'm going to write the Stephen/Segundus/Childermass V but that's going to be longer yet because it has to be slow build.
> 
> Also this has two chapters! I say that because I sometimes miss that with fics, and it's important to see both.

January 1819

Arabella opened her eyes and found herself in a dark wood.

She was asleep. She had gone to bed at nine o'clock pm, read for an hour or so while Emma went through the usual rituals that calmed her down and prepared her or bed, and then they had drifted off to sleep. And she was still asleep. Somehow, she knew this.

This was a dream…That must be the case, but if so then an unusually self-aware one. She sat up, got to her feet, found herself dressed not in her nightgown but in a day-gown of the sort she wore at home four years ago. An exact one, in fact, she realized, that she had been wearing the last time she had seen -  

"Bell," said a voice behind her, and she cried out.

"Jonathan," she said, but she did not turn, for even in a dream she could not bear the thought that she would turn and he would not be there.

"My love. Will you look at me?"

"Will you disappear if I do?"

"Oh, no!" The sound of his laugh came from behind her, and she knew then that nothing her mind would dream up could be so real. She turned, and found him standing there, smiling, with his arms out.

He was a few years older, but looked no worse for wear. His clothes were somewhat patched, it was true, and his hair was longer than he kept it, nearly to his shoulders, but his eyes did not look older the way they had when he'd come back to her that first time.

Why was her mind adjusting him in this way? Surely it would have been more normal for him to appear as she had last seen him?

Then she could not reason anymore. Jonathan had taken her into his arms and embraced her. They kissed for what felt like a long time, the smell of him and the texture of his hair so familiar she could have wept.

"It's not only a dream, Bell," he whispered into her ear. "I am here, for true, and so are you."

"How do I know that it is real and not some fairy-trick?" she said into his shoulder, holding him tight. "How do I know it is not only a dream?"

"Because you will dream it again." Jonathan kissed her again, on her on her lips, forehead, nose, cheeks. "It is real. And it is a dream. They are not necessarily different things, you know. And besides - " He stooped, plucked a flower, and tucked it into her hair. "There now. I have enchanted that to come back with you."

Like a dream, Arabella did not interrogate it. Proof would come later.

"How much time do we have?" she asked.

"Not so long. It will be longer the next time. The spell is complicated and takes practice."

"Then we should talk," she said, thinking of Emma. Jonathan nodded. He gestured, and a sopha appeared in the wood, looking quite out of place among the twisted trees and grasses. Smiling at this contrast, she sat down, and Jonathan sat with her, arms around her.

"I have missed you," he began, and then laughed. "Oh! I wish I were more of a poet. But anything I could say seems quite inadequate."

"I am not sure you need to speak. You are looking at me so much that I feel your eyes must be doing all the work."

"I have got to fill my eyes with the sight of you, for tomorrow when I cannot see you. I shall be lonely, you know. I hope you have not been so lonely." He pressed her hand. "You said you had something to tell me."

"I have taken up with someone," said Arabella, as gentle as she could.

Something hurt passed momentarily across Jonathan's face, and then left. He smiled. "That is good. The Widow's Walk is a lonely one, and I do not want you to walk it, not after so many years where I was at war or absorbed in magic or who knows what else. You have had as much loneliness as you should have to bear, and more." His hand tightened on hers, then relaxed. "Who is he?"

"It is Lady Pole," Arabella said, eyes downcast, for she did not wish to see his face if he was angry.

But when he did not speak, she looked up to find him thoughtful instead.

"Lady Pole," he said. "I take it she is more herself now, then.You would not take advantage of a woman who was ill."

"Oh, no!" said Arabella, rather shocked. "There could be no question of that. But I forget that you were already fighting, or on your way to fight, Norrell, when it happened. Or so they tell me."

"I did not fight him," said Jonathan. "Perhaps I ought to have, but I did not want to. I was not quite myself. But tell me more about Lady Pole."

"Oh, Jonathan, she is wonderful," said Arabella, leaning forward. "Do you remember how vital and full of life everyone said she was, just after her resurrection but before her enchantment? Did you know it was an enchantment? I cannot remember; things happened so fast after I was kidnapped. But I think Lady Pole must have been the same at that time. She brims full of energy at times. She writes letters to Parliament about the plight of women and marches in the street, sometimes!" Arabella smiled. "We are writing a book."

"About the plight of women?" said Jonathan, laughing. "I suppose someone must! I did not know you were so literary."

"We are writing about fairy-kidnappings," said Arabella.

Jonathan grew serious. "That is a good thing," he said. "Someone must. I hate to say it, but Norrell was partly right about fairies, though quite wrong about everything else, of course - we talk for hours about how wrong he was. Although he thinks it is a conversation about how right he was."

Arabella laughed. "Of course you do," she said, rubbing a thumb over his hand. He smiled, and then grew serious.

"I have a confession to make as well. It has been a long time, and I have - well - Mr Norrell and I - " He frowned, and seemed to sigh. "We have something, though I do not know what it is. We are not lovers. He does not seem to want that."

"And what do you want?"

Jonathan looked surprized, and then laughed again. "You do always cut to the heart of the matter, my love," he said. "I truth I do not know. It has all got terribly complicated, Bell."

Arabella patted his hand, feeling the aching familiarness of him. "Tell me this, Jonathan. Are you happy?"

He looked thoughtful again. "Do you know, I believe I am. I miss you terribly, and wish daily that I was back with you; but the magic we are doing now is beyond what anyone else has done for centuries. I wish I could tell you about it."

"Perhaps you will someday," said Arabella. "For I am studying magic. With your great friend Mr Segundus, in fact."

Jonathan opened his mouth in astonishment. Then he grinned his ironical grin. "I am not surprized," he said. "You will end by being better than me and then I shall have no advantages over you whatsoever, just as been the case for nearly all our lives." He took her hand, and kissed it. "I believe the dream will end soon. I wish you well in it, my love."

Arabella nodded, and then said, "Will I see you again?"

"In your dreams? I should think so! I shall visit you at least once a week, I think, and fill my eyes with you. Every night until we are accustomed to each other again." He smiled a familiar smile, one that had always been just for her. "I shall quite wear you out by night."

"I do wish you would," said Arabella, and squeezed his hand.

When she awoke, she found Emma awake beside her, staring curiously at her. She looked so beautiful with her hair falling into her face and her eyes still half-full of last night's dreams that for a moment Arabella could scarcely believe she was real.

She took a moment to reflect on her good fortune at having found two people in her time with whom she could share her life.

"You were smiling," said Emma. "In your sleep. That does not happen often."

"I had a dream," said Arabella, stretching. "And you look beautifully well-rested. Did you sleep well?"

"Better than last night," Emma allowed.

"I am very glad to hear that." Arabella rose, humming as she began to unbraid her hair. "I had best get to work. There are still essays that need marking before class this morning. I ought to have done it last night, but you did rather distract me." Arabella smiled at Emma, and Emma smiled back with just the faintest hint of sleepy mischief.

"You needed the respite," she said. "I am of course an advocate of hard work, for how else will anything be accomplished? But you should not work yourself sick."

"I am perfectly sturdy," said Arabella laughing. "In any case, you may have been right. I feel quite refreshed this morning."

"I take it the dream was a good one?" said Emma.

"It was lovely." Arabella paused in her unbraiding to recall it; Emma came up behind her and began to do it for her. "Oh, thank you. Yes. It was Jonathan. He said…" She frowned. "He said that we were both really there in the dream."

Emma's fingers stilled on the braid, and then pulled at something.

"Arabella," she said, "Why is there a flower in your hair?"

It was not until after school that day that they came to discuss the dream, in fact. Arabella had explained a little when Emma had found the flower, but there was much to do, and she did not wish to get into the implications for fear of spending her day thinking of them. This did not entirely work.

That night, alone in their quarters, she took the flower in her hands and gave it to Emma. "It's been enchanted," she said. "You can tell, can't you?"

"Yes, I know that much magic." Emma ran her thumb thoughtfully over a petal. "And your husband gave this to you?"

"Yes. Or I believe so. I do not know how else I would get it.

"And so he has come back to you," said Emma, something odd in her tone.

"I suppose he has." Arabella smiled, too caught up in the thought to notice Emma's change in mood. "By magic!" She laughed. "Who would have thought it?"

"I am very happy for you," said Emma. But she did not sound happy.

Arabella turned to her. "My love, what is wrong?"

Emma turned away. "I shall not be your love for very much longer," she said softly. "Not now that you have a husband."

Arabella's brow furrowed, and she reached for Emma, but Emma did not meet her, and she did not wish to push. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Because it is true!" cried Emma. "You are still very much in love with your husband. I knew this. I thought, perhaps, that the years I would have with you until he returned would be enough." She drew her knees to her chest. "They were not. They are not."

"Emma…"

"I know, I am terribly sorry." Emma's eyes were dry, but bitter. "I do not wish to spoil a joyful occasion. I am so terribly sorry, Arabella. I am happy for you, really. I am being petty."

"You do not think I love you too?"

"Not in the same way, or to the same degree," said Emma. "And I understand. I knew I was only ever here to hold you until you let go."

Arabella put a hand to her own mouth, shocked at this. She grabbed for Emma's hand, holding it close.

"My love," she said, "You are entirely wrong. I would not use you so cruelly. You are - you are one of the most astonishing people I have ever met." She kissed Emma's hand. "I love Jonathan, yes. If he had not gone, we would not be together, for I would not have been unfaithful to him. But here, now - he visits me in my dreams, Emma. Without you my days would still be lonely."

Emma turned to her, eyes meeting. "You will stay with me?" she whispered.

"Of course I will. I should be lost without you to start rumors on my behalf to give me a moment's peace from students."

At this, Emma smiled weakly, and Arabella drew her into an embrace.

"I will not leave you," she whispered fiercely. "You have been alone enough. Even if Jonathan should come back, I think we would come to some arrangement."

After a long moment, Emma's arms came up to Arabella, and she exhaled a long breath. They kissed once, and then Emma buried her head in Arabella's neck, Arabella stroking her hair.

"I am sorry," said Emma.

"Do not be. It is only natural to feel a little upset at these changes in life."

"You are very good," said Emma. "I hope Jonathan appreciates it."

"Oh!" said Arabella, laughing. "Perhaps he does not, but he loves me all the same, I know it. And I have you now. I shall not let you go." She kissed the top of Emma's head, and pulled at her. "Let us go to bed. It is late, and both of us are tired, I think."

She dreamed with Jonathan again that night, and woke up to kiss Emma good-morning, and Arabella realized with sudden clarity that she was happy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

February 1819

Childermass had been dreaming his usual dark-lit memories of early days, but the dream changed suddenly, and he found himself in the house at Hurtfew. In the library, in fact, he quickly realized. With Mr Norrell.

It was not Mr Norrell quite as Childermass recalled him. He was dressed in his drab old-fashioned clothes, but though fastidiously clean they looked slightly patched now. He wore neither wig nor cap, and his hair was no longer cropped close to his head. It waved out in gentle curls almost the length of a finger. Childermass realized with a queer sort of shock that he had never seen Norrell's hair this way. Then he felt the tingling in the air, like gentle rain and old paper. He breathed in deep, and knew.

"This is magic," he said.

"Yes," said Norrell. "You have grown very perceptive."

"What sort of magic is it?"

"Dream-magic." Norrell looked at his feet. "I have brought you here in your dreams. It is hardly the most acceptable form of magic, but it has been used with precedent in - "

"Why have you brought me here?" Childermass asked.

"To see you. To speak to you. It has been some time since we last talked."

"It has, and a great deal has happened," said Childermass.

"Yes. Yes." Norrell fidgeted with his jacket. "You are a magician now, Jonathan tells me from his wife's news - "

"I am. One of the first of an entirely new sort. And I work in a school for magicians."

Norrell winced, but did not say anything. _Jonathan_ , Childermass mused; perhaps Norrell had got what he wanted. He tried to squash the tiny flame of old bitterness that rose at that thought, and was perhaps unsuccessful, for when he next opened his mouth what he said was, "I have a lover now."

There was a stunned silence from Norrell.

"Well," he said. "Well. Of course you do. I am sure you have many beautiful young, er, admirers - may I ask - "

"I don't suppose you'll know him, but you have met him before. It is John Segundus, the magician. He came to visit your library once, in Hurtfew - "

"Of course I remember him," said Norrell sharply, "I remember everyone who comes to my library, and in any case he tried to start up that school. Do you think I remember nothing but books?" Then he sighed, and passed his hand across his brow. "I am falling back into old habits," he said, half to himself. "I did not mean to do that." He turned to Childermass.

"I have something to say," he said. "It is very important, and very difficult. Please, I beg of you, let me say it, before I become distracted."

Childermass nodded for him to continue.

Mr Norrell took a deep breath, "I have wronged you in many ways," he began. "I trusted the word of a scoundrel over you, who have saved my life many times over and who had shewn nothing but loyalty, in your own way. I failed to appreciate your importance to me. I... I apologize."

Childermass stared at his former master, opened his mouth, and woke up.

He found himself in bed, staring at the ceiling, and swore loudly. Segundus sat up, looking worried.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. I am sorry, I did not mean to wake you."

"Do not trouble about it. Did you have a nightmare?"

Childermass snorted. "Not exactly," he said. "Did you say Mr Strange was visiting Mrs Strange in her dreams?"

"Oh yes," said Segundus. "Apparently it is an entirely new spell. He and Norrell worked for quite ages on it." Segundus paused, and frowned. "Did he visit you?"

"No. Mr Norrell did."

Segundus's eyes opened wide. "Whatever for!" he cried, sitting further upright. "To order you about? I do hope he is not - "

"No," said Childermass, mouth dry. "To apologise."

Segundus blinked, and drew in a breath. "That seems somewhat out of character."

"I know." Childermass ran a hand down his face. "He's changed, I think. But I was so startled that I woke up."

Segundus smiled, and then grew serious. "Well, do try to go back to sleep," he said. "Perhaps you can get back into the dream. He must be terribly worried."

That Segundus, after Norrell had constantly squashed all his plans so many years ago, could still worry for the man's emotional state, spoke volumes to Childermass about his character, though nothing he did not know.

He lay back down, and Segundus lay beside him, arms around him. He spoke low in Childermass's ear, breath tickling.

"The two of you were intimate for some years, were you not?"

Childermass laughed; it was supposed to be dry, but to his own dismay there was still an edge of sorrow he could not entirely shake out. "Not the way you're probably thinking," he said. "Mr Norrell did not care for that, and I can take it or leave it. Well, you know." He shook his head. "But we were together a long time. Not always the same kind of together, but..."

"I understand," said Segundus. "I have to tell you something, John. If Mr Norrell - if he should want to kiss you or embrace you, and if you should want to let him - please do." He kissed the back of Childermass's neck. "It is all right. I will not be angry. You deserve as many people who will make you happy as you can find."

Childermass found Segundus's hands beneath the blankets, and put his own over them. "Thank you," he said.

But try though he may, he could not return to sleep for two full hours. And when he did, there were no dreams.

The day after - Saturday - he felt on edge from sleeplessness, restless, yet subdued. He had satisfactorily filed the dream away, for the most part, but at intervals it would intrude itself into his consciousness and cause him to frown. Segundus, seeing his distress, was especially careful with him. The gentleness with which he regarded Childermass always managed to surprize him when it manifested itself, even now. Today he was quietly glad of it, for it meant Segundus did not ask him to speak about the dream or his feelings for Mr Norrell. Instead, Segundus touched his hand at intervals, spoke softly to him, and ran his fingers through his hair when they sat down to work.

He went to bed that night with a feeling of apprehension, and took some hours to go to sleep.

But when he did, he found himself in the library at the same spot, Mr Norrell standing there stiffly. He breathed a sigh of relief without quite knowing why. Perhaps it was because he hated to leave things unfinished.

"Sir," he said. "You have brought me back."

"I have. It was quite rude of you to disappear without warning."

Childermass could not stop the faint laugh that escaped his lips.

"Childermass - no, John, I suppose," Mr Norrell began.

Childermass raised an eyebrow, and then nodded. It had been some time since he'd heard that from Mr Norrell's lips, for even when they had been together and in private he had never been given to its casual use. "And I suppose you do not like Gilbert any more than you did three years ago."

Norrell made a face. "Jonathan uses it sometimes, but it still reminds me - "

"Of your father. I know, sir. Norrell. Sir." For although Mr Norrell was no longer Childermass's master, this word felt familiar and comfortable slipping off his tongue; just as Childermass had only rarely been _John_ , Mr Norrell had always been _sir_ , for it had been safer and easier that way. For him to be Norrell now, after so many years, did not feel right. He took a deep breath.

"I forgive you," he said.

Mr Norrell blinked, then blinked again. He opened his mouth, and then frowned.

"I sent you away," he said.

"You did, and it was a mistake. The wrong choice, as I told you. But I was coming back, sir. Even then I was coming back."

Norrell looked stricken, and moved towards Childermass. Childermass held up a finger, however.

"But," he said, "I am not the only one you need to apologize to."

Mr Norrell frowned again. "Who else?" he said impatiently. "Surely not Lascelles."

Childermass snorted. "No. He got less than was coming to him, whatever happened to him. No, I mean - well, Lady Pole, and Mrs Strange, and John Segundus."

"Lady Pole! I brought her back to life."

"She found the experience distressing. She and John often speak of it." He noted the little flinch Mr Norrell gave when Childermass used Segundus's Christian name. "You know what you did, sir."

Mr Norrell flung himself onto a sopha. "I did it for the good of English magic," he muttered.

"I know. And I helped," said Childermass, shrugging. "I followed you into it."

"Have you apologized?"

"Yes. Where I had to." Somewhat unexpectedly, even to himself; Childermass was not one to regret his own actions, and indeed he was not sure if he did. But, oddly, he had meant it.

Mr Norrell said nothing else, but continued to sulk. Childermass sighed. "Come, sir," he said, "Tell me of how you have been. Or of what spells you have used to perform the magic you are doing."

Mr Norrell straightened up a little as Childermass sat down next to him on the sopha. He cleared his throat. "The spell is from Sutton-Grove and there was no record of its content," he said, "But Jonathan and I performed a reconstruction based partly on something he did in the Peninsula. He said it was extremely easy. The point of the spell is that it works better the more someone is - is thinking of you, so that you can only enter the dreams of someone who - " Childermass had leaned forward, his eyes on Mr Norrell's face, and suddenly Mr Norrell broke off and lay his forehead on Childermass's, eyes closed, hands on Childermass's face. He did not kiss him, though Childermass thought for a moment that he would. Instead, he simply lingered there.

"I have not touched you in a very long time," he said.

"You have not. Even longer than you have been away."

"It was London," said Mr Norrell. "It was so much harder in London. Nothing was the same."

"I know." It had been; things had changed between them then, after Lascelles and Drawlight came, after the need for respectability under scrutiny. After Jonathan Strange, who took half of Norrell's heart and left Childermass to piece together the rest. Childermass knew he ought to have been more detached about that, and really, Strange had made the right choice, but some days he completely failed to maintain the distance he preferred. He hated that, the way he hated the odd days where he woke up thinking Mr Norrell complaining about cold feet in the bed, remembering the texture of his hair between his fingers.

And now this.

"The spell will stop soon," said Mr Norrell. "You took such a long time to fall asleep," he added with a hint of reproof. He paused. "May I - may I bring you here again?"

For a moment, Childermass considered saying no. It might be easier to have done with it and never see Mr Norrell again. But he could not, he knew.

"Yes," he said. "You may."

Mr Norrell started to say something, but Childermass woke up. It was still dark, though getting on towards dawn.

For a while, he lay there, staring at the ceiling. Then he got up and went to the balcony to smoke his pipe.

It was not long before Segundus slipped out to join him. He did not say anything; he only stood behind him and rested his head on his shoulder. This was one of the advantages of Segundus's company; he knew how to be quiet, did not object to exercising this skill, and often knew without being told when it was needed.

After a while Childermass said, "I went back," and felt Segundus nod against his shoulder.

"I told him I forgave him."

"That must have been a great comfort to him."

"I don't think so. I told him I wasn't the only one who had to forgive him."

Segundus's hand slipped to Childermass's, took it. "And he said?"

"Denied it, of course. I expected nothing less. But I expect he'll come around, if I work on him."

"You are very persuasive," agreed Segundus. Childermass smiled wearily. 

"Let's go in," he said. "It's too cold for sensible men to stay out."

"Indeed it is. I shall have to rub your feet to warm them up before you get into bed," said Segundus, hand coming up to Childermass's arm. "Otherwise we shall both catch a chill."

Childermass went back into the room with Segundus, and allowed himself to hope.


End file.
